


Pulse

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: Post-PFL RP AU [7]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Knifeplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: York playfully nudges Carolina’s blood kink button, and then is all surprised when it detonates.





	Pulse

They're having a quiet breakfast when the memory strikes him. And thank God that Delta isn't in his head, because York doesn't want the psychoanalysis involved with thinking about sex while he’s cutting into a juicy sausage, but it's good and the memory is good and the promise of mischief makes him bite his lip around a grin. It's 9 o’clock in the morning, a fine layer of phosphorescent snow is building up and the world is perfectly peaceful. The right time to completely shatter it, if he’s lucky.

There's been a time or two - nowhere near enough - when Carolina had an interesting reaction to the taste of his blood. One of the few things he’s seen that really unhinge her, drive her out of her mind the way she can so easily drive him. Which isn't bad, in and of itself, but it's nice to switch roles every so often. 

“So,” he says, syllable rolling off his tongue, “we’re not gonna be going anywhere today. Or for a couple days. Do you wanna--” he draws little dashes in the air with his butter knife. “Cut me up a little and drink my blood after breakfast?”

A forkful of egg is halfway to her mouth when Carolina freezes, eyes popping wide. “What did you say?”

“You like that, right? Tasting me?” He hasn't mastered what about it appeals to her and is already a little giddy at the look on her face, but soldiers on. Aiming for casual, even as he chews on a bite of fresh rolls. “Smearing me all over your fingers and lips? Carving your name into my skin and see if it scars? Not a typical snow day activity, but…”

There’s no moment when she decides to move. She barely even registers that she is moving. She’s just there, out of her chair, next to his, kissing him so hard that his chair actually tilts backwards. Only his knees hitting the underside of the table keep him from hitting the ground, and he does anyway only a moment later, when she grabs two handfuls of his shirt and hauls him out of his seat. The chair topples over, hitting the floor with a bang, just as Carolina straddles his waist, seizing his flannel shirt and yanking it hard, sending every button flying like shrapnel. She snarls to find a t-shirt underneath.

Carolina drops her face to York’s, eyes burning. “It’s up to you - we can fuck right here on the floor, or while I get a knife, you can move to the bed. I don’t care if we get blood on it. I don’t care if it stains. I actually hope it does, because I want to remember this. I want you to. I want you to get hard every time you see your blood on the sheets. Fuck it, just get on the bed. That’s what I want.”

“Yes, boss,” he gasps - just a tiny bit freaked out at how far he’d pushed her but trusting her not to hurt him. She gets off him with a snarl and he practically runs to the bedroom, whisking off all but the bottom sheet and dropping onto it with a helpless, frightened laugh. At least he’s hard. Like, really hard.

“Don't say a word, D,” he mutters, struggling out of his shirt.

Carolina nearly yanks the kitchen drawer completely out of its track. She grabs a paring knife, stalking back into their bedroom, just in time to see York on the bed, dropping his ruined shirt to the floor and grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt. 

“Leave it,” she barks, kicking his flannel shirt under the bed. Slapping York’s hands away, she pushes the knife through the bottom hem, cutting through the folded fabric. She brings the knife back to the top of the shirt, and slices it cleaning down the center, holding it away from York to keep from cutting him as well. She drops the knife onto the bedside table and breaks the neck of his shirt with her hands, throwing it aside. “Hate that shirt. It shouldn’t have been there,” she says nonsensically, before pushing him back, onto the bed. She reaches behind her for the knife, and once again freezes, quivering with fury. “Why are your pants still on?”

He gets the feeling she doesn't want excuses. “Lemme get these off,” he stammers, arching his back as he slides both layers down to mid-thigh before she stops him.

“Fuck it. Should have been faster.” She climbs onto the bed after him, knife in hand and straddles his waist. “Are you ready, York? I am. I want to paint you red and lick it off.”

If the way his cock jerks under her isn't answer enough, the way his voice buckles under the weight of his want should be enough. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. Green.” York licks his lips and relaxes his arms, hands on either side of his head, bare and pliant under her as his heart thunders in his chest.

The way that he lays himself out for her, open and trusting, softens her for a moment. She ducks down to kiss him, for only a moment nuzzling her cheek against his. “I love you.”

Without waiting for a response, she sits up again, leaning over his chest. Over the thick muscle below York’s right shoulder, Carolina makes her first small cut. It goes pale, then beads with blood, and York takes in a small breath.

“It's fine,” he assures her, trying to stay still as he feels the hot-cold of the stinging cut and the wet blood welling along the line. “Again. You won't hurt me.”

For a moment, Carolina barely breathes, watching the blood bead on York's skin. She has to tear herself away to make the next incision, parallel to the first, followed by a third. 

She pulls away, barely able to turn her head enough to stow the knife safely on the table, before she's drawn back. Carefully, Carolina lowers herself to the cuts, and reverently kisses them, one by one. Then with no hesitation, lips red, she surges up to kiss York.

“Having fun?” he whispers against her mouth, licking his lips. His left hand comes up to cradle the side of her face, tender and unobtrusive. “The color looks good on you.”

“You have no idea,” she whispers back, hypnotized by the way the red disappears from York's lips under his tongue. It’s almost painful to look away, and would have been nearly impossible, but for the three small cuts, once again awash in fresh blood. Carefully, Carolina settles herself over his chest, eyes shining and once again lowers her mouth to him. 

Her open mouthed kiss floods her senses with the taste of hot copper and salt. Carolina melts against York's chest to lap at his wounds, her tongue flat and relaxed against his skin, feeling the slight catch of the edges of the cuts. She alternates between slow tender kisses and gentle caresses of her tongue, a low moan rising in her with each one, seemingly unaware how her body slowly begins to roll against York’s.

“Fuck, yes,” he whispers, pressing his head back against the pillow, fingers curling in the sheets. She's still completely clothed above him and he loves it like that, the faint catch of denim against the shaft of his cock, how her little movements aren't for him at all. Totally involuntary twitches of pleasure. “Anything you want, it's yours.”

Her tongue is starting to drive him crazy, smooth and rough and hot and cool all at once. Holding still is ecstasy, is torture; feeling her suck on raw skin is intense enough a laugh escapes him, then a moan as he closes his eyes and grips the sheets.

“It’s good, boss, I’m with you. Keep at it.”

She can't even respond, lost in her own world of taste and touch. His blood sets her own on fire, desperate for more, desperate for a release of all this nervous energy building up inside her. If York had been wearing a shirt, she would have seized a handful of it. As it is, her fingertips merely leave faint scratches on his shoulder as she balls them into a fist, frustrated and ecstatic both at once. Finally Carolina pulls back, breath hot against the wound before her eyes meet York's. Her voice comes out half a whisper, half growl. “I need more. I need you.”

Carolina’s shirt and bra hit the floor in quick succession, but there is no way for her pants to come off while she is still straddling York. With a grunt more furious than frustrated, she dismounts, shucking off the rest of her clothes while York hurriedly kicks off his. She doesn't wait for him to finish, pushing him flat on the bed, and climbing to top of him again. Carolina rolls her hips over him, sliding herself along his length, slick and hot, before burying herself against him, kissing along his neck.

“Ooooh,” he wails, “oooh fuck that's good, come on Carolina, take me, take what you want, what you need.” The way he clings to her hips is proof he needs this just as much. Still he waits, fights off all but the most impatient little bucks under her. 

She dips back down below his shoulder, but the blood is slowing. Carolina drags her lips through what is left, then raises herself up on her knees to take York’s cock in her hand. Eyes locked on his, Carolina guides him in, red lips parted as she moves, rocking slightly take him deeper. “This good, York?” Her next movement bottoms her out and she drops her face to his, pulling her lips over his cheek to mark him. “It's good for me. So good.”

His words catch in his throat, a garbled mess of consonants as he gasps for breath. York shudders under her, licks his lips and swallows. A shaking nod is all he can manage for a moment.

“Do it again,” he rasps. “The knife. You want to, right?” The way her eyes darken, burning into him in the purest, carnal way is answer enough. “Here.”

It takes a little effort for him to reach the knife, but when he settles back down he holds her gaze. Touches the tip of his tongue to the blade, tasting the crimson gleam of blood on the edge. Traces the flat of it along his jaw and neck, goosebumps trailing the chill surface. Grits his teeth as he digs the tip in, gasps as he cuts a shallow furrow four inches long down his breastbone.

“See?” York manages, setting the knife to the side as his pounding heart floods the cut with blood. “I like it too.”

“Oh god…” Her own voice sounds miles away, as detached as her own thoughts. Carolina reaches out with a shaking hand, running her fingers through the blood blossoming on York’s chest. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she pulls back, gazing at her crimson fingers, watching a drop run lazily down to her knuckles. Then she offers them to York.

He takes her hand and instead of pulling it to his mouth, pushes it down to his ribs. “C-a-r-o,” he starts to spell, tracing the letters with each finger in turn. As soon as he releases her hand, she dips her fingers back into his blood, continues where he left off. “-l-i-n-a,” she finishes, dipping her hand in one last time for enough blood to make a single drop to dot the ‘i’. She sits up, eyes locked on her name gracing his body. 

“So beautiful.” With his cock deep inside her, it’s hard for Carolina to move enough to easily reach the entire incision, but she lowers herself anyway. When she licks up the center of his chest, she comes up with smears on her nose, lips and chin. She watches the blood seep out again, gathering enough to trace “Y-o-r-l” low across her abdomen, before dipping back in to finish the “k”. 

Again she leans down to clean the wound with her tongue before bracing herself over him, face to face. “I’m yours - and you are mine.”

The sound he makes is low, desperate; feral if there was a trace of aggression in it but there's not. It's a sound of pure surrender as he tears his eyes away from his name to hold her gaze.

“God, I love you,” he moans, hands on her hips gripping tight enough to nearly bruise. Despite his best efforts he’s shifting under her, shallow little thrusts inside her, fighting to find room between the mattress and her body for friction. “Fuck me, Carolina. Fuck me--”

And he takes her hand, smears it across his chest to settle on his neck.

“And be thorough about it.”

York’s pulse thrums under her fingers, the heat of the blood in his arteries seems to burn into her skin. Carolina brushes her thumb over his throat, spreading a wide stripe of red. She tenses a moment, staring down at him, then seizes both his wrists, pinning them on either side of his head. Her chest drops to his, feeling a slick of wetness between them as she sucks ravenously at his neck, replacing the crimson on his skin with strawberry hickies. Carolina rotates between licking, sucking and dragging her teeth against York's throat, keeping her hips rocking against him, his cock deep inside. 

“You want thorough, York?” Carolinas words are barely more than a growl, low and wild, and she nips at his shoulder. She brings her hand back up, adjusting both so their hands are clasped and puts her weight on them to strengthen her movements against him. 

“It's taking everything in me not to rip to shreds. I love the-- I love the taste of you,, the heat of you, knowing as I lap you up that it's another way you are in me. Deep in me,” she adds, the growl lowering to a whisper, hot with lust. Releasing York's hand, Carolina reaches down to claw along the side of his ass, digging her nails in as she rocks down hard. “So deep, inside me where you belong. I need more, I always need more of you, York. And you like it, don't you? You love it, being wanted this much.”

York had started choking back moans as soon as Carolina started moving on him. By the time she’s finished speaking, finally deepening her strokes to give him what he needs, he’s practically crying out with each breath. Sweat and blood are mingling on his skin, stinging his cuts, and he couldn't love it more; that perfect balance between pleasure and pain.

“I do, I do, I love it, I want it-- god, yes, Carolina, do it, break me, cut me, bleed me, drain me, I love it, love it so much,” he hiccups with each buck of her hips that he rises to meet.

“Good. I want to make you fall to pieces York--" Carolina’s voice carries the same heat, but softens at the edges, “--then put you back together again, because I love you.”

Strange how it's her sweetness that breaks him more than the knife did; then again, it's not strange at all. It's Carolina, and she has always been the exception. York breaks free of her grip with a strangled “come here, then,” and drags her down into a ravenous kiss.

It’s good but it’s messy; the blood and sweat blending together to make the sheets smell like a battlefield. York can’t help but think of sparing as Carolina holds him down by his shoulders again, teeth tinted as she grins and licks her lips. She’s beautiful like this, so victorious. So dangerous. So his.

“You should see yourself,” Carolina says as they move in tandem, the wet sound of their fucking barely audible over their ragged breath. “Such a mess.”

“Your mess.”

Another grin, and she tightens around him for emphasis too. “My mess. And you better be messy inside and out.”

“God, I love you so much,” he moans, chest hitching as he tries to hold off his climax, the scabs on his shallow cuts splitting as he writhes under her. “Love giving you everything, anything you want-- you can tell, can’t you? How-- how close I am?”

“That's what I want, York. Come for me.” Carolina speeds up, kissing him hard and nipping York’s lip before lowering her mouth next to his ear. “I want you to get loud. Don't hold back. Show me how good it feels York. Show me how much you love it. Come for me York. Now.”

There's not enough time to answer her with his words, lightning racing down his spine as his body obeys her command. York seizes under her, deaf to his own rising screams and numb to anything but the heat of Carolina’s body on his.

York's cries nearly deafen her, but Carolina's rhythm never falters. She keeps riding him as his body stiffens and bucks underneath her, as his hands clutch at her, holding her by the hips, emptying himself as deeply inside her as he can. And even as his grip starts to relax, and his screams turn to ragged moans she keeps milking him until he tenses again, approaching the edge of too much. 

It's the way his head presses back into the mattress that does it, the way York twitches helplessly beneath her that pushes her over the edge. Carolina is equally uninhibited, head tilting back as she cries out, locking around him as her movements still, trembling as the wave of pleasure washes over her.

He’s lightheaded as he starts to come back down, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as her inner muscles tighten around him. The sounds she makes could kill him as she comes, taking him with her far enough it hurts like the cuts did, the breathtaking rush of limits pushed to breaking. Dizzy from adrenaline, drunk on her skin, York catches Carolina when she finally goes limp. Her weight pulls at his cuts and he takes in a sharp breath.

“Got you,” he rasps, wincing at the sound of his broken voice. He hopes the soothing hand he rubs up and down her back says enough, since he might not be able to use his words for a bit. 

“I love you.” Carolina lets out a sigh, pressing her face into the side of York’s neck and brushing her thumb along the edge of his shoulder. It’s so tempting to lay here, dozing in his arms - she’s half gone already - but York is still bleeding. So instead she lifts her head, peering at him through her eyelashes. “You okay?”

“Great,” and his voice is such a croak that even he winces at it. “Might need-- a shower. When I can feel my legs. You did good, boss.” And his shiver isn't for show. He feels giddy, exhausted and gross and bleeding but giddy.

“Me too.” Slowly, carefully, Carolina pulls herself off him. Or rather, peels herself off him - drying sweat and blood makes their skin stick together. Carolina tries to press her hand against his chest as she pulls away, trying to protect York’s cuts from being pulled apart, but winces when he sucks air through his teeth in a gasp. “Sorry, love. I’m sorry.” 

“S’okay. Love you too.” Once she's unglued, York relaxes back into the sheets, drags two fingers down the gash on his chest and holds them up to her mouth.

Dragging her lips through the blood, Carolina gives York a wink before taking both fingers in her mouth. Without breaking eye contact she sucks them deep, caressing them with her tongue. She pulls back off a soft wet popping sound, faintly pats at the edge of her lips with a fingertip before getting out of bed with a smile. “You need help sitting up?”

He nods, takes the hand she offers in both of his, and is pulled up with a fresh groan. “Vampire,” he teases, stumbling after her to the bathroom like the living dead. 

“You're okay, c’mon York.” With a smile and gentle touch, Carolina leads him from the bed to the bathroom, where the shower and first aid kit awaits.


End file.
